Brooklyn is Burning
by TwiggyFallon
Summary: Before Bonnie and Clyde, another norotious couple cursed the dark streets of New York. This is the story of the infamous Ada Jinx Jagger, and how her run in with Newsie Leader Spot Conlon changed Brooklyn forever.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own the wonderful feminine badass Jinx Jagger and the other characters not in _Newsies_.

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_Prologue_

Sweat formed in beads across my forehead as the blinding lights were flashing red behind me. _Fucking shit. Two seconds quicker and I'd be out with my thousands in cash. _

As soon as I saw the opportunity of a small alleyway, I dove head first, sliding up against the wall, stuffing the money in either pocket, and fucking lucky they didn't catch it. I'd taken the money out once again to count it. I could still hear the sirens, but by now I was gone. Gone. It was the most scintillating high that I had ever felt in my seventeen years. I'd made all the Brooklyn newspapers within the last month, and once in a while I made the front page as the most "notorious yet unknown" criminal in all of New York. People knew me by name, but not by face. By day, I was just a pretty orphan girl. But by night, I transformed into a catlike criminal that no one could catch.

My career started as a girl of six when I stole fake rubies from the general store, them slowly moving onto real diamonds. Of course, it took years of practice and precision, but now I am one of the most respected criminals in all of New York – except that only a select few know my true identity. And those would be the boys I lived with on 23rd and National, right between Gus's Shoe Shine and Old Time Lemonade. It's a street with quite a bit of personality – despite the alarming crime rate, mostly caused by me and my boys. But I loved it there. It was my home for so many years until finally, the shit hit the fan.


	2. Have It All

I first saw the little prick on the corner of Oakland and 18th and thought for sure that couldn't be Spot Conlon. This kid was skinny as a pole and lazily leaning against the wall of an old abandoned building with a cigarette hanging pathetically from his mouth. The boys from Queens came to pay me some homage in return for a favor. Said Spot Conlon needed to be straightened out. The guy was outta his mind, bribing kids to join the strike against Pulitzer. I'd never met any of the newsies from Queens – or Brooklyn, for that matter. Newsies weren't my typical crowd. I was used to staying up at all strange hours of the night, wandering the streets and attending the random poker game or party that I was lured into. Anyway, these guys were begging me for a favor. But I guess I wasn't what they were expecting.

They came on my turf, about 6 of them, looking scared as shit. I was just on my way to winning a game of craps when they nearly startled me. As they approached us, I stood in front of the others.

"Whaddaya want?" I asked them, squeezing my hand into a tight fist at my side, just in case.

"Ey, sweetheart," the oldest-looking one said. Putting two and two together, I assumed he was the leader.

"We're lookin' for Jinx Jagger."

"You're lookin' at 'er," I shot back, placing my hands on my hips. Some of the guys sniggered. The leader eyed me suspiciously, while walking around me slowly.

"'Dere's no way you'se can be Jinx Jagger. He's 'da toughest criminal undah eighteen in Brooklyn."

I didn't want to flatter myself by accepting the compliment that was meant to be an insult.

"Actually, I toin eighteen next week. An' if I need ta prove ta you fuckheads 'dat I am who I say I am, ask me somedin," I dared them. "Anythin'". Anything they'd ask me about my criminal career, I'd know.

"A'ight. Last summah, where were ya on the night 'a August 13th?" The leader probed.

"On my way up ta meet Bash when I got caught in a fight outside 'a the bakery on Baxter Street. You boys prolly saw it in the paper. _Bash and Jinx Cause Terror on Brooklyn's 'Safest' Streets?_ 'Dat was some bullshit. We din't even start it."

A little boy the size of a pea jumped up and down.

"Bash Benson? You know Bash Benson?"

"'Course she does," another little boy said, smacking him on the head. "They're partners in crime."

"A'ight, a'ight," the leader said, getting impatient with the boys' excitement about meeting me. I thought they were kind-of cute.

"At American Bank," the leader started, with a glint of humor in his eye like he was going to stump me, "how long did it take ya ta empty da drawers?"

I thought. "Foist time or secon'?"

"Second."

"A minute fifty-four," I told them. But I was suddenly panic-stricken – how did everyone know my criminal statistics?

"How did ya –"

"I know a guy who knows a guy," the leader explained. "But he din't tell me you was a goil."

I shrugged. "Only a couple 'a da guys know. An' if woid gets out – "

"Don' worry," he said, then spitting in his hand. "Flex. Nice ta meet ya."

I shook his hand, then became wary again. "So boys, Whaddaya want?"

Flex took a step forward as if this should be a secret.

"I uh.. I mean we… need some help. You hoid 'a Spot Conlon, right?" I nodded.

"Well, he's bribin' guys wid' the little money he has ta make 'em join 'da strike."

I leaned back, crossing my arms. "'An you don't like it?"

"It ain't 'dat," he tried to explain. "But fights are breakin' out every night 'cause he can't pay 'em back. An' kids are gettin' really beat up. So… I was wonderin' if you'se could come an' straighten 'im out a little."

I pushed my lips to one side and thought a while. "Conditions?"

"We'll feed ya, clothe ya – "

"As long as ya don't _un_clotheme," I smirked.

"'Den come wid' us," Flex smiled.

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The boys took me to Brooklyn that night, and I was more than excited, mostly because I could be part of one of the biggest fights in Brooklyn history. When we reached the lodging house, Spot was already outside, about to shoot his slingshot until we approached him. He glanced my way with an eyebrow cocked, a gold-tipped cane at his side. He looked at me, then at the guys surrounding him.

"Anyone call for a prostitute?" Instantly I jumped at him and was only held back by Flex.

"Feisty," he replied with an annoying calmness.

Flex sighed heavily and looked at me once more, I assumed to make sure that I wasn't going to explode again.

"Evah hoid 'a Jinx Jagger?"

"Yeah," Spot said, the muscles straining in he shot at a nearby bottle. "The guy who emptied twenny fuckin' drawers in two minutes flat?"

"A minute fifty-four," I shot back at him. He gave me a pathetic smirk.

"What the hell is this?" He asked, his eyes burning with anger at Flex. Flex took a step back and pushed me forward.

"Spot, 'dis is Jinx Jagger. I know she's a goil, but it's really her. She's wid' us, 'cuz you'se keep tellin' guys you'se is gonna pay 'em –" Flex was interrupted by Spot's fucking annoying laugh.

"You'se 'spect me ta b'lieve 'dat 'dis is Jinx Jagger?" The young boys nodded vigorously.

"Lissen," he said, walking toward me slowly. He may have been taller than me, but he was know match for my fighting skills. "I dunno who the fuck y'are, but –"

Smack! My fist flew into his stomach and he bent over instantly in pain.

"We'll leave you two's alone," Flex said hurriedly, pulling the others away.

"So Jinx sent a bitch ta take cah of his dirty woik." He held up a fist, but as soon as I saw it begin to fly towards my face, I ducked and pelted in the cheek. His hand went up to guard it immediately, but his other hand balled up and got me in the stomach.

"Don' go easy on me," I told him pitifully. He growled and lowered his liquid sea-green eyes onto mine.

"I dunno who the fuck you are but if you'se don't get outta heah right now,"

"What?" I interrupted, wrinkling my eyebrows. "You'll what? Tell all the guys in Brooklyn that ya got beeat up by a goil?"

As soon as I mocked him, he got me in the cheek. I wasn't surprised. I hurt his pride – the one sure way to get mugged.

"I told ya who I am," I retorted, my eyes burning with rage at Spot. My gaze didn't leave his face. His jawbones were clenched and I knew something was coming, so I chose to start it. We were bobbing, swinging and going at it in the dark alley between the lodging house and the musty bar next door. Soon after the fight started, I backed up into a wall and Spot nearly fell into me while swinging a fist at my face. He caught himself by bracing his muscled arms on either side of me, only inches away from my face. His partly bare chest was gleaming with perspiration, and I gulped and let out a staggering breath. I tried not to look into his eyes because I knew he'd see how good he got me.

"A'ight… I'm gonna ask ya one more time. Who the fuck are you?" He demanded. I didn't move at all, and his hand snatched my chin to make me look at him, and I slapped his hand away but he kept it there.

"Who are you? Huh?" He was now getting so loud that I didn't want to make a scene.

"I told you!" He once again tensed his jawbone and exhaled.

"'Den show me the tattoo." I narrowed my eyes at him – every guy knew I had a tattoo – basically because of its position on my body.

"Fuck you," I spat, trying to get out of his grip, but as much as I struggled, he tightened his grip so much that it was almost unbearable. I clenched my eyes shut and through the wave of pain, let out a yelp. He let go almost immediately, and when I looked down I saw red marks on my wrists from his grip. His gaze intensified on me slowly as I unbuttoned my blouse, wishing death upon him for making me do this, until the buttons had become undone just at my breasts to reveal the tattoo. From the talk around Brooklyn, I heard boys say it was the sexiest thing they'd ever seen. But the reason he couldn't describe the tattoo was because no one – but me – knew what it meant. I looked at him angrily, refusing to notice the romantic effect the moonlight had on his angry blue eyes and angular cheekbones. When I realized the bastard held his gaze at my breasts for much longer than necessary to get a peek at my tattoo, I buttoned up my blouse quickly. Spot looked utterly dumbfounded. Shit. I hated when things got awkward like this.

"I'll make it easy, Conlon. Don't promise no more money, an' I'll let ya live."

All of a sudden, he broke out in a laugh that pissed me off. "A'ight, it's great 'dat you'se is tough an' everythin', but I don't wanna start nothin' wid ya."

My eyes slightly squinted at him as I was deciding what I should do. Should I wait and trash him when he least expects him, or should I take him down now? I took a step closer to him and ignored the fact that he smelled of spice and cigarettes.


	3. Renegade

Disclaimer: I do not own any newsies from the movie; however, I do own Jinx Jagger and other characters not in the movie.

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Spot ignored the fact that I was literally inches away from his face, but he only seemed to get angrier each second.

"Maybe you'se hasn't noticed 'da way shit's hittin' the fan on 'da streets 'a Brooklyn. Y'know what I saw last night? A tiny kid gettin' the shit kicked outta him by a guy three times his size 'cuz he was in 'da wrong place at 'da wrong time. A _tiny kid._" His eyes aggressively locked on mine, and my eyes met his with ferocity. It was like there was electricity shooting through them.

"I dunno what you wan' me ta do 'bout it. You'se is 'da criminal heah, Jinx. I jist sell papes an' start shit when I need ta. You wan' things ta change, you'se can do it yaself."

"'Cause you're the one causin' all the fuckin' problems!" I screamed. Spot gave me a small, pathetic smirk.

"Don' ya got somedin' bettah ta do, y'know, rob a bank or kill an ex-boyfriend or somedin'?"

Fucking bastard. As soon as I comprehended what he was saying, I pulled out a compact-size knife from my chemise that was safely tucked in so it wouldn't cut my chest. I switched the blade and Spot froze, but for a second I was sure he was going to comment on where I kept my knife.

"Don' be stupid," I warned him. "Jist pay 'em an' this'll all be ovah."

Spot put a hand on his forehead and growled.

"'Cause I ain't got no fuckin' money!"

"So you'se is promisin' 'dem shit ya can't give 'em?"

"What the fuck would you know about it?" He spat.

I met his fury equally and got in his face again. "Y'thing I been handed everythin' I got? I work for what I got, Conlon."

"No," he muttered. "Ya fuckin' steal for it."

My grip on the knife tightened at my side and Spot exhaled slowly.

"I'm gonna make ya an offer," he said slowly, obviously trying to calm himself down. "Not cuz I like ya, but 'cuz I don' wanna see all 'a Brooklyn go up in smoke."

"Whaddaya propose?" I asked, lifting the knife so it rested just below his chin.

"Well," he stated, uncommonly composed for having a knife at his throat.

"I'se understand 'dere's a lotta money ta be stolen heah." I thought about it and kept my knife there.

"I woik alone," I retorted.

Spot rolled his eyes and looked so deep in thought that it was hurting him.

"Well, what does Bash do?"

I shrugged. "Who the fuck knows. He nevah comes wid' me, he jist finds me places ta go."

"So he's like ya secretary," he smirked.

I wasn't liking all this joking business, so I deciding to give it a try. I mean, give _him _a try. Who knew? He could be a great accessory for my crime career.

"A'ight," I said quickly, lowering the knife before I changed my mind.

"Where?" He asked.

"16th and North."

"When?"

"Tomarrow. 2 am."

I turned to walk away, but stopped when I heard Spot call out to me.

"Hey Jinx." I turned around to face him with an inquisitive look.

"Nice tattoo." As I walked away from him, a small smile formed on my face. _Nice, Jinx,_ I thought to myself. _Now he wants to fuck me and I'm happy about it. _

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When I reached the lodging house, I saw some of the young boys looking out of the second-story window. As I approached, huge smiles fell across their faces and they ran from the window. I walked inside and the staircase flooded with boys of all ages, thumping down the steps. Flex, however, greeted me first.

"Ey," He said, his big brown eyes sparkling below the ceiling light. He suddenly looked down when he saw my bruised eye, pink cheek and other injuries. "Ya a'ight?" I nodded.

"Boys," he introduced proudly, stealing his arm around my waist. "'Dis is Jinx Jagger. I know I told ya 'dis befoah, but don' be tellin' no one 'dat she's stayin' heah, a'ight?" Everyone nodded and grunted.

"A'ight," he cleared his throat. "Up ta bed." After all the boys disappeared in the main bunkroom, Flex showed me the upstairs and opened a small room with two tiny beds. His face flushed.

"Uh… I set up 'da room befoah I found out –"

I let myself form an awkward smile. "Jist pretend I'm one of 'da guys."

I slowly sunk down on the bed – the most comfortable thing I had ever sat on – and noticed how uncomfortable Flex looked. I sat silently for a moment as Flex kicked off his shoes and sat on his own bed. He looked like he was deep in thought.

"What's up?" I asked him.

"Was… was your dad – I mean, some guys said that he was–"

"Was he what?" I asked amusingly.

Flex looked up slowly like he was trying to ask me something that scared the shit out of him. I didn't want to make him grab his guts and run. On the other hand, though, I

I felt bad leaving him in agony. I reached into my pocket to reveal a small and very old article and photograph from the newspaper. I handed it to him and he looked utterly bewildered.

He glanced at me quickly until he looked at what I had given him. He comprehended it quickly, then read it out loud. "Baptiste 'No Pinky' Agnelli, one of the most famous and dangerous criminals of the past decade, died today, July 5th, 1881, in Piazza Square at 3 a.m. Agnelli's girlfriend, Isra Jacquette of the Vaudeville Theater in Brooklyn, New York, also died at his side moments later. The couple is survived by their two-year-old daughter, Ada Jacquette Agnelli." He stopped reading and looked at the photograph next to the obituary.

He looked up at me. "Your mother was Isra Jacquette?" I nodded.

"Then – where did Jagger come from?" He asked, with a wrinkled brow.

"After I escaped the orphanage, I decided to change it. I heard so much bad shit about my parents that I didn't want to take my father's last name, so I combined the two."

Flex nodded slowly. "Wait – I thought Isra Jacquette was a famous dancer in Morocco."

I shrugged. "She was. My grandmuddah was Moroccan and my grandfaddah was French, but she moved ta New York when my grandmuddah disowned her for wantin' ta be a dancer in Vaudeville. She lived in Morocco for most of her life, though. Well, befoah she met my dad."

"Where'd you learn all this stuff?" He asked, handing me back the article and photograph.

"I stole the papes from the orphanage," I smiled. I noticed that Flex was looking at me funny, so I gave him the exact look back.

"What?" I asked.

He shrugged and smirked. "You're pale for a Moroccan."

I rolled my eyes and suddenly felt very exposed. I mean, I had just told him about my parents. I never had really told anyone about my parents – not even my friends. I just lied and said I knew nothing about that. I guess I'd rather know nothing about them than know I'm the lovechild of a criminal and a can-can girl.

"What 'bout yours?" I asked Flex, thinking I'd feel better if he told me something about his life.

"Nothin' int'resting," he admitted, sitting on his hands. "Me muddah died when I was born an' me faddah died when I was five. He was a banker."

I shrugged. "Int'resting enough for me."

Flex sighed and gave me a small, apathetic smile. "Easy for you ta say. Everythin' in your life is int'resting. Bein' on the road wid' Baptiste 'No Pinky' Agnelli, bein' the daughter of a gorgeous dancer. I mean, I gotta try hard for 'dat kinda stuff ta happen ta me."

I snorted in disbelief. "It ain't all good. They fucked up pretty good ta produce a daughter like me."

Flex said nothing for a while but just looked down at his feet awkwardly. I wondered how old he was.

"I don' think there's nothin' wrong wid ya." He looked me in the eye, his chin still slightly downward towards the floor.

"Good," I replied, standing up. "Neithah do I."


	4. You Know I'm No Good

While the boys were out selling the next day, I thought I'd catch a game of craps down at the dock, but when I passed an alleyway on the way there, I felt two strong hands grab me around the waist and push me against the wall. My eyes instinctively closed tight. In the back of my mind, I told myself not to take out my knife, because I knew exactly who it was. _Shit. It's Bash. _I opened my eyes and wriggled out of his grip which was, to say the least, unpleasant.

"What the fuck are ya doin'?" An angry Bash asled. His cold eyes were full of rage. "Since when are ya ditchin' me ta hang out wid' newsies?"

"Since today," I answered defiantly and rather annoyed. Once again I tried wriggling out of his grip. He rolled his eyes.

"Lissen, me an' Pin got a gig goin' on down on 12th an' Grabd tanight. We could rack up 2 hundred 'a piece. You in?"

I shook my head. "I woik alone."

He smirked at me through his distant eyes. "Ya didn't woik alone last week, remember? Or did I fuck ya so good you'se forgot 'bout it?"

I shut my eyes tight. "I don't wanna talk 'bout it," I retorted. His gaze lowered to my chest and lingered there.

"What's wrong, baby?"

"I'm not ya baby," I said briskly, trying to get away from him.

"I see," he nodded with a disgusting look on his face. "Ya use me when ya need me an' throw me away when ya don't. Ya cozy up ta me when ya need a favor an' 'den ya think ya can jist run off like 'dat?"

"I ain't doin' nothin' you never did," I replied. His eyes darkened and just when he was about to punch me, I lunged forward, and my legs carried me as fast as they could back to Brooklyn.

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Spot met me in the alleyway outside Hanley & Cross Bank, dressed in his usual dirty attire. I figured he didn't know a fucking thing about robbery, so I gave him a ski mask to put over his face. We were pressed up against the side of the building, waiting for any late-night drifters to disappear to their houses. When the coast was clear, I handed him my white parasol, and he raised an eyebrow.

"What the fuck is this foah?" He asked, holding the frilly parasol away from him with two pinched fingers as if it were a dirty diaper.

I rolled my eyes. "If ya wanna get in you're gonna hafta break the window, genius."

He shook his head in confusion. "Leave it ta Jinx Jagger ta be ladylike when she's robbin' a bank."

"Shut up! Someone'll hear ya. Now go ta the back window… an' make shoah ya break it so ya got enough room ta get in the foist time," I warned. "Then go in, grab, an' run like hell." I pulled out my white gloves, and he raised his eyebrows to mock me.

"Well if _you_ wanna leave your fuckin' fingerprints all ovah 'da bank we're stealin' from 'den be my guest," I announced.

"I don' need gloves ta steal money," Spot warned me, as if to say _I'm a real man._

I smirked and looked at him intriguingly. "Fine, 'den I'll swoop in an' get as much as I can while you keep watch."

"Keep _watch_?"

I sighed. "Ya think you're so badass, don'tcha?" I stepped closer to him so he was just inches from my face, but I could tell I wasn't scaring him.

"An' ya think y'are jist 'cuz ya fight wid' guys?"

My gaze on him intensified, as did his. At any moment I felt our eyes were going to eat each other. But goddamn… for some reason I wanted to kiss him. Not the ladylike way, either. I wanted to fucking throw him against the wall and – _Jesus Christ. _When I realized we were staring at each other in anger for a prolonged amount of time, which I knew would only lead to another fight, I shoved my extra gloves in his hands.

I followed him to the back, and in one swing the entire window shattered open, and a deafening alarm sounded.

"Hurry up, ya fuckin' moron," I shouted at Spot, who was still trying to fit the tiny gloves in his bony boy hands. I pulled him by the arm and leapt to each register, handing the money over to Spot. I heard the faint sound of a siren coming closer, and I froze.

"Get out! Get out!" I yelled at him. He headed for the window, which I knew would be dangerous, so I grabbed onto the back of his shirt.

"The _back door_!" He dashed to the door and I grabbed some of the money from his hands, stuffing it down my shirt. We ran as fast as we could, as far as we could, but after a couple of minutes, I heard a siren trailing behind us. I looked behind only to see the police less than a mile away, and I froze – again. He was going slow, as if he knew exactly where to look, and looking for suspects. But before he saw us, Spot grabbed me by the wrist, and we kept running – only this time, faster. By the time the sirens dissolved into the night air, Spot still hand one hand wrapped around my wrist. Before I knew it, we were at my usual safe zone, and I slowed down. Spot headed for the same alleyway and swung me around the corner to land right against him, face to face. My breath was caught in my chest, and Spot's hand, which was now around my waist, trembled. I heard a car speed up, which I assumed was the police, and Spot pulled me tighter against him. I brushed off the feeling of warmth between our bodies, and felt a tingle where his groin was pressed up against mine. I felt my heart leaping uncontrollably out of my chest. I shut my eyes tight until the car had passed, and the siren could no longer be heard.

I sank down to the ground with my back against the building wall, catching my breath. My face felt hot from our position before, and I tried anything to cool myself down. Next to me, Spot was nearly hyperventilating.

He panted. "That was…"

"Yeah," I nodded. I put my hands on my knees, staring at the ground, but I could feel Spot's eyes on me. I looked around for the hole I dug where I stuck a box of clothes in and buried it. Spot's face looked quizzical until I unburied the box quickly and started unbuttoning my blouse. He suddenly straightened up.

"Couldn' we wait 'till we have a bed or somedin'? I mean it's sexy 'dat ya wanna do it out heah, but –"

"Shut up," I hushed him, unbuttoning the black pants that had belonged to Flex, and therefore slid off easily. In my underclothes, I dug through the box for my dress, which was pretty but now very wrinkled, and I cursed myself for choosing a dress that buttoned all the way down in the back. I stepped in and pulled my arms through, and when I looked at Spot, his eyes instantly averted to the sky.

"Ya wanna help me?" I asked nonchalantly. Spot cleared his throat and strode over like he thought he was a Greek god. I felt his surprisingly warm fingertips push my dark, wavy hair to one side as he pulled ever so gently on the top to do the first button.

In a swift move, Spot ran a hand through my hair, barely nuzzling against one side of my neck. "How many 'a these do ya got?" He whispered so quietly with his warm breath that it made me shiver in a nervous sort of ecstasy.

"Too many," I managed to say in a squeaky voice. He continued to fiddle his fingers with the buttons until I was done all the way up. I began to collect my black clothes to bury them back in the hole and cover it up when I felt Spot's eyes on me.

"What?" I snapped after a while, feeling more than a bit awkward that he had been staring at me for the past couple minutes.

He stood silently for a moment before speaking. "I hoid 'bout your parents."

I rolled my eyes. "Don' bothah feel sorry for me," I said sharply, getting up and briskly walking away from him.

"Ey, don' walk away from me," he yelled, grabbing me by the wrist. Everyone seemed to be doing lately. I exhaled calmly and looked backwards, up at him. I expected those blue eyes to be angry when I looked into them by the way his voice had sounded, but they weren't. Not at all. More like…. patient. And something inside of me was screaming at him to whisper into my ear just one more time.

"What?" I asked, my voice cracked nervously.

"I wasn't gonna feel bad for ya," he stated, as though he were proud of himself.

"Well I'm sure if ya had feelings ya would," I muttered under my breath, and felt his grip on my wrist once again. At that moment I hated myself for doing what I did best – the low blow. Sure enough, when I looked up at him with a regretful look, his eyes were now cold as ice.

"For a goil you'se gotta a lotta noive talkin' ta me like 'dat," he warned, taking a step towards me. But I didn't let his arrogance scare me away.

"But it ain't 'cuz I'm a goil, is it? I scare the shit outta you Conlon, jist admit it!" I hissed. I was fucking tired of fighting, but I wasn't going to lose. Not again. I almost expected him to start laughing and do that annoying little smirk, but until I could make out what he was doing, his fist sailed into my eye, and I nearly fell backward. Everything went black for a few moments, and all I could hear was his heavy breathing. I finally opened both eyes, not allowing myself to cringe with pain. I saw that he was leaning against the building with one hand covering his forehead and walked back to him.

"You're a fuckin' coward," I spat. "'Causin' ruckus on the streets 'a your own city, lettin' the people ya care about get hoit. An' for what, ta make anuddah penny a day so you'se can bribe more guys inta doin' what ya want?"

He opened his eyes and looked at me darkly. The roof of the building cast sinister shadows on his face, but I held my gaze. I needed to hear what he was going to say – or do – back.

"You're right," he nodded with his lips pursed. "I ain't like you. I make money by doin' what's right an' when someone tries ta take it away, I'm gonna bust a few skulls." Spot paused, and everything became very quiet because of the fact that he had stopped screaming. He then walked up to me so we were about a foot apart.

"Ya know why? 'Cuz if my boys don' make no money, 'dey don' get fed. If I don' make no money, how the fuck am I s'posed ta give 'em what 'dey need? Have you _ever _cared about anyone but yaself? Ya go 'round robbin' banks for ya own pleasure an' keep 'da money for yaself? Yeah…" his voice trailed off. "I am a fuckin' coward."


	5. Scandalous

I got in at quarter after three and tried not to make too much noise as to not wake up Flex. First of all, I didn't want him to know I'd been gone, and second, I didn't feel like talking. I was way too pissed off at Conlon to have a decent conversation. I tiptoed into the pitch black room, and just as I'd made my way silently over to the bed, the light on Flex's bedside table flicked on.

"A'ight," he said as though he'd just been waiting for me all night. "Where've ya been?"

"I was…" _Shit! What was I gonna tell him, that I was robbing a bank? He'd call the police! God, Jinx, think of something! Shit shit shit!!_

"Down on 23rd and National. Jist visitin'. 'Dey dealed me in on a game 'a poker an' I lost track 'a time."

Flex looked at me suspiciously with an eyebrow raised. "I guess 'dey miss ya."

I shrugged and nodded, kicking off my shoes and sat down on my bed, beginning to brush my hair, which had become quite unruly after being outside in the windy night air.

"So 'dat's where my black pants wandered off to, huh? 23rd and National?"

My eyes flashed to him, and I was instantly crushed. I had forgotten to bring his pants back. I didn't want to lie, but if I told him the truth, he might have kicked me out. I wouldn't have minded, only I didn't yet do what I promised him I'd do.

I sighed heavily, sitting on my bed opposite him. I placed my hands nervously on my knees and began to speak, but the words only came out in a stutter. "I'm sorry, I –"

"Yeah, you fuckin' should be!" He yelled, getting up quckly and pacing around the room. Each time he paused, the dusty floorboards underneath him lightly squeaked.

"I was only tryin' ta –"

"I can't b'lieve you'se! We give ya a place ta sleep, we feed ya, an' ya repay me by breakin' the law?"

"No," I tried to explain, but tears began to cloud my vision. Flex became an angry blur standing over me. "Jist let me explain," I begged.

"Y'know what's funny 'bout the whole thing? Ya actually made me b'lieve 'dat ya cared about all 'dese boys, an' all ya care about is a new hideout so you'se can hit every bank in the city," he muttered with disdain. "I shoulda known. You'se prob'ly already hit every bank in Brooklyn."

It was my turn to interrupt him, to make him understand. I felt a huge migraine coming on, and I felt like fucking punching the wall. But I knew if I told him what was really going on, he wouldn't believe me no more than Spot would. My reputation had destroyed any possibility of me doing something right.

"I _do_ care, jist listen ta me! It ain't what ya think!"

"No, I ain't listenin' to ya. I shoulda knownyou'd do 'dis." I bit my tongue once and for all, and looked at him, hoping he'd ask me why I had done this.

He looked at me one last time and nodded at the door. "I want you out."

I didn't put up a fight – I knew I'd caused him enough grief already, but if he'd known what it was for he wouldn't have kicked me out. All I could think about was those little boys who had looked up to me and only wanted to survive on these streets that I was now walking on. I was empty handed except for a parasol and the pair of shoes I was carrying. I felt the rain on the soles of my feet as they pounded on the cobblestone, but I didn't know where I was running to.

I kept running until I was both out of breath and Queens, and I sat down on a lonely wooden bench that had now soaked my pale blue dress – and me – to the bone. I sat there, amazingly catatonic, for what seemed like seconds, but soon it became day. People filled up the streets and horses kicking up stale dirt while driving carriages. I somehow felt even more depressed than when I had got here, realizing that I had nothing and no one to go back to. I had done wrong by everyone I had cared about, all because I was trying something right.

It must have been a few hours until I had been recognized, and I saw in my peripherals a boy of six scooch onto the bench next to me. I was afraid to look over in fear that I may be in for a good tongue-lashing by order of Flex, but I looked over anyways. To my right was one of the little boys from Queens that had come with Flex to Brooklyn to get me. His name, I'd recently discovered, was Tooth, because his top gums had a gap where his two front teeth should have been. His gray cap was thrown messily over his light hair, and he stared at me as if he were deep in thought.

"I gots a lettah," he finally said, holding the dirty paper out to me.

"Who's it from?" I asked sadly, fixing his cap, feeling strangely motherly.

"Flex."

I looked at him reluctantly, but he opened my hand and stuck closed the letter in my palm.

"Jist read it, k?" He asked, his big blue eyes staring up at me.

"Ok. Thanks, kid," I smiled as he merrily walked away. I hesitantly opened the letter which was written sloppily on the back of today's headline of the newspaper.

_Dear Jinx,_

_I heard about what ya did for the kids, and I'm sorry I acted outta line. Me and the boys would be glad to have ya back at the lodging house, but first I need ya to talk to Conlon. _

_Flex_

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My heart thudded in my chest with every breath I took as I anticipated what would happen with Spot – and I knew exactly to find him. I had no idea what I was going to see him for. I couldn't even tell if I was mad at Flex for making me talk to him, or if I was looking for a reason to see him. I didn't want to run, because I'd arrive all sweaty, but the longer I waited to get there, the more anxious I became. Why the fuck did I feel like this? It wasn't like I had any reason to be _scared _of him. He was just Spot Conlon.

I let myself explore all the possibilities of what could possibly happen as I walked confidently yet anxiously towards the dock. However, I felt a serious drop in confidence after seeing all of the older boys jumping off the pier and swimming – in their undergarments. As soon as my feet touched the wooden planks of the dock, the boys froze to look at me with quizzical eyes. I didn't look at one of them closely enough to even guess what he was thinking, so I walked by all the wet boys in search of the one I was looking for. Spot Conlon, in all his glory, perched on top of a stump of wood on the dock, his underwear leaving barely anything to my imagination. His tanned chest was still dripping wet from the water, and damp wisps of hair fell in his eyes as they pierced mine almost too suddenly. I felt my face grow pink as I sat down beside him.

Neither of us said a word for a few moments, then finally he decided to speak.

"So, I guess ya wondrin' what ya doin' heah," Spot started as though I should be lucky to be in his presence. Ha.

"Yeah, I guess I am," I retorted, not bothering to disguise my anger.

Spot cleared his throat and, noticing that some of the guys were already listening to our conversation, gave a short upward nod, and they immediately dispersed. I had to admit that his authority over them was a bit of a turn-on.

"I hoid what ya did wid' the money. Givin' it to the guys I owed, I mean. An' I 'dink if ya get caught you'se is gonna be screwed, but also…" He became very quiet and instead of looking out at the water, looked down to where his golden-tipped cane was sitting.

"Ya saved my ass"

My eyebrows creased together in disbelief. Had Spot Conlon just apologized? I whipped my head to the side to look at him, and his mouth… it was slightly upturned into a devilish yet sincere grin. God, I wanted to –

"You're welcome," I replied in the most ladylike manner I could muster. When I abruptly stood up to get out of the terribly awkward situation, he stood up, it seemed, as a polite gesture. But now we were standing too close for comfort. I let out a staggering breath and his long eyelashes fluttered downward.

:"So why'd ya make Flex write the lettah?" I asked, keeping my eyes forward instead of looking into his. It seemed much safer that way.

He straightened up and simply stated, "I don' write lettahs ta women."

I let out a small breath. "What 'bout ta criminals?" I inquired, the question coming out in a sexier tone than I had desired.

"Criminals," he said with an exhausting breath, scanning my face. It seemed that he was just as nervous as me, and it made my breath catch in my chest.

"I've nevah met a real criminal befoah. Let alone a criminal who was a woman."

I tried not to smile, but it was too fucking hard. Something about him just made me want to tackle him to the ground and kiss him hard while robbing the biggest bank in Brooklyn. I guess it was a pretty good fantasy.

"Well," I smirked flirtaciously, "I don't make ya noivous, do I, Mista Conlon?"

He looked amused when I came up with the nickname for him, probably because I'd never heard anyone call him that before.

"Nah," he said, tucking an unruly strand of my wavy hair behind my ear. But I swear when his fingertip touched the tip of my ear, his hand trembled.


	6. Sexy Results

Disclaimer: As usual, I do not own the newsies in the Disney film, but I do own (sorry, Jinx, I know you don't like to be owned) the original character Ada "Jinx" Jagger.

Recap from Chapter 5: Scandalous

"Well," I smirked flirtatiously, "I don't make ya noivous, do I, Mista Conlon?"

He looked amused when I came up with the nickname for him, probably because I'd never heard anyone call him that before.

"Nah," he said, tucking an unruly strand of my wavy hair behind my ear. But I swear when his fingertip touched the tip of my ear, his hand trembled.

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Chapter 6

I still felt the butterflies in my stomach as I walked all the way back to the lodging house. I still felt the butterflies as I ate dinner with the guys from Queens at the local diner. In fact, I still felt the fucking butterflies as I lay in bed that night, so much so that Flex could even tell I was awake.

"Jinx, go ta sleep," Flex said in an exhausted voice. I looked over at the clock and it read 1:01 a.m.

"How'd ya know I was awake? I was keepin' quiet," I said quietly, sitting up.

"Your finger's been tappin' against the headboard for at least an hour," he sighed, sitting up after I did.

"What's up?" He asked, seeming like he was only asking because he wanted me to shut up.

"Well…" I started, seriously considering telling him. "It's jist…."

But where would I start? What was I supposed to tell him how I felt about Spot if _I _didn't even know how I felt?

"Heartburn," I replied quietly.

"Well drink some warm fuckin' milk and shut up. Night," he said.

I suddenly became so conscious of my tapping that I couldn't bear to stay still any more. I didn't bother putting on anything decent – I thought my rather short nightdress would speak for itself. I quietly pulled on my black rain boots – the first type of shoe I could find – and froze. Before slipping out the window, I realized I needed a reason to go. Some girls would venture from Queens to Brooklyn late at night for no reason, but I would not be one of them. Then, for a moment, I swallowed my pride – swallowed it all the way down, and thought that maybe, just maybe, I should tell him – no. That wouldn't work. That would _never _work. Maybe if I wasn't Jinx Jagger.

But that's it! The fact of the matter is I _was _Jinx Jagger. Jinx Jagger didn't need a reason to spy on her new prospective partner in crime. Jinx Jagger didn't need a reason for patrolling the streets – after all, that's what Flex brought me here for. Suddenly, feeling quite smug, I snuck out via dirty window and onto the dark and rainy streets of Queens, on my way to Brooklyn.

However, my pleasant thoughts were rudely pushed to the back of my mind when I saw a sort of riot and several young-looking people crowded together. I was half tempted to roll my eyes and curse death upon all of them, until I realized that this was exactly why I was here – to prevent all this fighting. But how could I prevent it when I had no idea what the fuck was going on?

I started to sprint towards the fighting – which, by the way, is what anyone who is fucking crazy would have done – and felt nearly paralyzed when I came upon Spot, who was getting the shit kicked out of him by some guy at least twice his size. All the others froze when they saw me – word had gotten around to many of the boys that I was Jinx Jagger, and _all _of them, by the way, had been sworn to secrecy about my identity. As for Spot and the other guy, they were right in each other's faces, were now engaged in a battle of quick, harsh words and sharp pokes to the chest. But I knew there was to be fighting in the near future, and them, being as dumb as two people could get, had no idea I was right behind them.

"Jinx? What the – " Spot did a double-take when he saw me – and my ensemble, which featured an unforgiving short nightdress and galoshes. He almost seemed angry that I was there, but I don't know why. I would probably end up being the one to save his ass. Actually, I had no idea what side I was supposed to be on – or who's I wanted to be on.

The other guy, however, looked suddenly confident. "'Ey, Conlon, why don' we let Jagger sort 'dis one out?"

I heard whispers amongst the other boys while I waited to hear what all the fighting was about. I didn't know who the fuck this guy was, let alone where he came from. I had suddenly felt responsible for all the fighting.

"Turns out 'dat the guys nevah got 'da money," The big guy said, not even bothering to introduce himself. By the looks of him, I'd say he was from Harlem.

"What are ya talkin' bout? I put 'dat money in a lockbox an' left it for Conlon ta give ta – " I paused mid-sentence, well aware that I now probably looked like a deer in the headlights. My eyes drifted over to Spot, who met mine remorsefully.

"Spot," I whispered, taking steps over to him, and I felt everyone's eyes on us.

"What happened to the money?" My breath started to stagger – all I wanted to know was where he was hiding it – or who he gave it away to. Then the boys could have what Conlon owed them and it would all be over.

"I dunno," he replied completely straight-faced, his skin oddly pale. God, he had a nerve to give me a stern look when he fucked up my plan. He shoulda known that by fucking up my plan, he fucked himself up the ass. Where was he gonna get the money to pay the guys back now?

"Conlon, I'ma ask ya one more time," I told him as a warning.

"Where the fuck is the money?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" He shouted defiantly, as my hand swooped up and slapped him across the face.

"Where is it, ya dirty rotten scabber!" I demanded as his hand flew to his cheek. Some of the boys went back to the lodging house, while some of the older ones stayed to watch the action. However, I stopped in my tracks and looked around at all of them with infuriation in my eyes, and they knew to leave.

But my heart sank as I watched Tooth trudging away, looking more distraught than ever. All the other boys looked the same way. I saw another kid searching the ground for unused cigarettes, and another asking another boy if he had a penny to spare – because he hadn't eaten all day.

"Jesus, Conlon," I said, feeling tears form in my eyes, but I blinked them back easily when I saw the ferocious look in his eye.

"God… I –" Once again I needed to fight off the tears, but this time, I was angry. No. I was beyond angry. I was enraged.

"I can't believe ya took advantage 'a me like 'dat!" I exclaimed, pacing up and down the middle of the alleyway. "I helped ya get the money 'dat ya couldn't get for yaself an' I did it without anythin' in return from you!"

Spot shook his head in disbelief. "Ya got plenny in return. Ya kept your pride, din't you? Look at me, I got all my boys thinkin' I'm some sort 'a thief ever since ya got heah. An' I nevah asked ya ta do anythin' for me!"

"Nah," I agreed sarcastically, shaking my head. "Ya jist let me go along wid' it ta screw me ovah!"

Spot lifted his head up very slowly to look at me.

"Ya dirty bitch," he growled his eyes practically red with anger. "'Dere you go again, blamin' everyone else for somedin' ya fucked up," he spat.

But as soon the second to last word rolled off his tongue, my fist had landed perfectly right below his sculpted cheekbone. I backed up slightly to give him a chance to fight back, and he lunged at me, full force, swinging and missing at first. I whipped around but was met with his bony fist to my eye, and despite the pain, my infuriation kept me going. I bent over slightly and ran at him, ramming him into the brick wall, one hand tightly cupping his neck, and the other firmly on the bones of his chest, a soft moan escaping his lips. He let out a staggering breath due to a lack of air and squeezed his eyes shut as he reversed me, grabbing both of my wrists and pinning me up against the wall, his jawbones tightly clenched and only inches away from mine.

The fucker had taken away almost all of my strength, and only the miniscule amount that remained was soon to be wasted on his angry eyes which were now attached to mine as if my magnetic force. For a very brief moment, I felt as if he had ripped open my soul and I was left, standing naked in front of him to see. I tried not to crack as we stood there gazing with incredulous anger. But at that exact moment in my life, for the first time, I had no idea what to do. I wasn't exactly intimidated, or even overcome with anger, but something inside of me suddenly felt like it was on fire, splitting my insides into a million tiny pieces. With all the strength I had I let out a scream and pushed him up against the wall, our faces crashing together in an unforgiving way. I heard a small whimper escape my lips and his head lowered so that his lips just grazed my ear, and his tight grip around my arms loosened. I shivered and raised my eyes to look at him, when he suddenly pinned me against the wall one more time. About the time when I expected a swift jab to the face, I instead felt his calloused hand grab the back of my neck and hold me in front of his face.

I was completely out of breath; but considering the circumstances, I think I was holding up pretty well. I had just gotten punched in the eye, and I was face to face with the most beautiful and the most stubborn newsie in Brooklyn. It also didn't help that he was the leader.

Yet, there I was, too emotionally incompetent to get myself out of the situation, but somehow, being so close to him, so close that I could smell the cigarette smoke lingering on his lips, the fresh scent of his hair. And suddenly, I became dizzy, and before I could pass out, before I could do anything else but just breathe, he made up for my incompetence. In one step, he intensified the grip on the back of my head, and his mouth went straight for mine. His lips attacked mine in the same way that _he_ had attacked me; unforgiving, yet incredibly full of lust. He tasted so sweet yet so spicy as his tongue clashed with mine. It was if the moment was so filled with passion that my mind was completely fuzzy; I couldn't have been able to remember my own name if I tried, but God, I felt like I knew every single inch of Spot's body. But that still wasn't enough.


	7. Chain of Fools

Disclaimer: I own all the newsies not in Newsies, including Ada Jinx Jagger

Disclaimer: I own all the newsies not in Newsies, including Ada Jinx Jagger.

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Recap from Chapter 6

I was completely out of breath; but considering the circumstances, I think I was holding up pretty well. I had just gotten punched in the eye, and I was face to face with the most beautiful and the most stubborn newsie in Brooklyn. It also didn't help that he was the leader.

Yet, there I was, too emotionally incompetent to get myself out of the situation, but somehow, being so close to him, so close that I could smell the cigarette smoke lingering on his lips, the fresh scent of his hair. And suddenly, I became dizzy, and before I could pass out, before I could do anything else but just breathe, he made up for my incompetence. In one step, he intensified the grip on the back of my head, and his mouth went straight for mine. His lips attacked mine in the same way that _he_ had attacked me; unforgiving, yet incredibly full of lust. He tasted so sweet yet so spicy as his tongue clashed with mine. It was if the moment was so filled with passion that my mind was completely fuzzy; I couldn't have been able to remember my own name if I tried, but God, I felt like I knew every single inch of Spot's body. But that still wasn't enough

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"What the _fuck_, Spot!" I screamed while pushing him away.

"You fuckin' stole the money an' you're tryin' ta get in my pants!"

He looked like a little boy he way he was shaking his head violently. "No."

"No what? You didn't steal the money or you'se ain't tryin' ta get in my pants?"

He looked slightly confused. "Both. I mean… neithah. _Fuck!_ I don' understand you'se! I din't steal the fuckin' money!" He was once again screaming in my face, like always. But then he did something unexpected. _Really _unexpected. He bit his lip as though he was trying to keep the tears from coming out of his eyes.

"I thought ya knew me bettah."

For some reason seeing him almost cry made me cry too… for real. He was still right up in my face, but I didn't know why. We were angry at each other, but crying for each other. I always let this type of guy in my life. The ones I knew were bad for me, the ones I knew would be the first to run if anything happened. I bit my tongue and refused to let myself feel anything for him but extreme dislike. Turning on my heels and brushing past him, I looked at him bitterly.

"I thought I did too."

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I didn't end up going back to the lodging house, but to the bar. I had nothing to do but to get so drunk that I couldn't tell a cigarette from a light pole, which happened to be alright when Flex walked in very unexpectedly and helped me back to the lodging house. I jumped off the barstool and made a dramatic exit towards the door with Flex holding my armpits so I wouldn't fall down.

"Flexxxxx…….. what are ya doin' heah, huh? How'd y'know I was…heah?" Even though I was plastered, I realized how drunk I sounded, but could do nothing about it.

"Don' worry 'bout it," he said distantly, walking me briskly back. He shushed me once we got inside until we got to our room and he sat me down on my bed and propped my bed against some pillows. Flex sat down on the bed next to me. I was so inebriated I lost control of my body and my head landed in his lap.

"A'ight, what's goin' on? Why are ya tryin' ta drink yaself ta death, an' where'd ya get 'dat shinah?"

"Wheah? I'll tell ya wheah. Spot _Conlon_, dat's wheah. I figured out he stole 'da money. 'Da guys nevah got da money! So I knew he stole it, so I 'cused him of it an' we got in a fight."

"I hoid, Spot told me 'bout the fight. I figured he'd try ta steal it."

"But 'dat sin't 'da woist of it. Guess what he did _'den_?"

"What'd he do?" Flex asked, his glistening eyes looking very appealing in my condition.

"Aftah all 'dat, he tried ta _kiss _me!" I said, so infuriated that I tried to stand up. Flex immediately followed and caught me just when my legs gave out.

"Heah," he whispered, laying me down on his bed, and laying down next to me. But something wasn't right. This wasn't my bed. I was being taken care of for once, and I didn't know that I liked it. And later, when our naked bodies were pressed up against each other, the eyes I looked into were brown, not blue.

I especially knew something was wrong and I woke up alone. Actually, the worst part was waking up and wishing that I was waking up to someone, and someone in particular. I rolled over so I was on my back and felt not only extremely nauseous, but angry. Angry at Spot for making a fool out of me, and making a fool of myself in front of Flex last night when all he did was help me out of the bar. And he was so nice taking care of me and not trying to get in my – _FUCK!_


End file.
